


we left our love in our summer skin

by orphan_account



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Battle XIII (Lucky Thirteen)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's summer. Things change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we left our love in our summer skin

**Author's Note:**

> For Porn Battle XIII. Inspired by Death Cab for Cutie's "Summer Skin." Prompt was "summer."

Artemis's heart surges and it pushes her forward until her lips have found their way onto his.  
  
The stench of the newly-mown grass of the baseball field fills the humid air in her nostrils, and she can almost taste it on her _teeth_ , the same way she can taste Wally, whose eyes have still not closed, whose cheeks are flushed in the twilight, whose hair she clings to with clawing desperation.  
  
She can't quite backpedal to the point at which she had made the decision to do this. They had been out for a walk; that much she remembers, and they had wound up at the park, and it was late, so no one was there – and they'd somehow wandered under the bleachers, and the crickets were swelling with sound and the air was pulsing and Wally had said something, something she couldn't remember anymore – and now he finally had the good sense to move his hands onto her clumsily prominent hip bones and press her against him.  
  
She doesn't know what changes or what changed. But it's the middle of summer and they've come back from a mission with bruises on their bones and blood on their hands and maybe if they kiss each other hard enough, it won't be such a vivid memory in their hurting heads. And soon enough, she's naked, and so is he, and the clock way down in the harbor strikes midnight faintly.  
  
The season, the weight of it, rests on her bare skin, and Wally is saying her name like he never thought he'd get the chance to say it again except in passing or nostalgia. His breaths tumble down into the spaces between her shoulders, and he presses his forehead there, and Artemis puts her hands on his back; the skin is warm beneath her touch, like the air, like the sound of the cicadas.  
  
It's rapid, senseless – the metal of the bleachers is cold against her back when he comes, his bitten fingernails digging into her shoulder blades – and Artemis doesn't know if she feels sad or relieved or both or neither; the knowledge that he is alive, the _feel_ of it – inside her and around her and on the edges of her lips – possesses her heart, just as he has since the day she died in the snow without warning and came back just the same.  
  
They walk back to the Cave with the backs of their hands barely touching, swinging idly against each other, and the air conditioner inside hums quietly, like the sound of his heart (and of hers).  
  
Things change. But then again, they really don't.


End file.
